Everyone you love could go to hell and you'd still be here, balling.
Item #: 8397
Object Class: Safe
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-8397 is kept in a standard humanoid containment cell. A metal hoop is bolted onto one wall, which is to remain stowed (parallel to the wall) outside of testing.
Site-97's basketball court is to be vacated and locked after hours.
SCP-8397 with approximated skeleton (anomalous structure highlighted)
Description: SCP-8397 is a humanoid entity formerly known as Erim Durmaz, who was a Foundation researcher and point guard for Site-97's basketball team. It is 2 meters tall, of athletic build, and wears a faded sports jersey.
SCP-8397 possesses near-baseline human anatomy with the exception of its left arm bones, which have been entirely replaced by additional vertebrae. These vertebrae branch out from the T1 vertebra of its thoracic spine and are densely compacted, though SCP-8397 has shown the ability to extend them up to 1.5 meters during physical activity. The last vertebra terminates at the valve of a standard rubber basketball, which is permanently attached to the palm of its hand.
SCP-8397 remains inactive until brought in proximity to a basketball hoop, upon which it enters a state of intense physical activity that superficially mimics basketball gameplay. While in this state, elevated electrical activity can be detected along its additional vertebrae and within the basketball. No such signals have been detected from its skull.
SCP-8397 was discovered in its current state on 12/25/2006 at 6 a.m. Surveillance footage showed that SCP-8397 had been playing alone and in near-complete darkness on Site-97's basketball court throughout the entire night. Eyewitness accounts corroborate its normal appearance the day prior; thus, it is hypothesized that it underwent an anatomical transformation at some point during the night.
SCP-8397 is not believed to be sapient. Low-priority testing is ongoing to determine the extents of its anomalous properties.
Containment Update: On 02/12/2007, Project Lead Elsie Woods accessed SCP-8397's containment cell without having scheduled testing prior. Due to the anomaly's low-risk classification, this infraction was not discovered until the following events had concluded.
<BEGIN LOG>
SCP-8397 is sitting against a wall, its knees bent at roughly 90 degrees. Its eyes are blank and bloodshot, and its basketball rests within its lap. Next to its head is the keycard scanner which controls the position of the metal hoop, currently stowed.
Woods enters the cell, her hair tied into a bun. She turns to SCP-8397 and smiles.
Woods: Hey, Erim. What's new?
SCP-8397 does not respond.
Woods: Another day of sitting around, you say? Riveting, really. Do tell me more.
She sits on the floor in front of SCP-8397, draping her arm over one knee.
Woods: Oh, me? Not much, just the usual. I'll tell you what's going on outside, though. Upper management rolled out another half-hearted health initiative this week, and that means more random junk on the cafeteria menu.
Woods: Today they had something called "protein parfait," which was supposed to taste like smores and contain forty grams of protein. Probably made for the gym rats in the facility—the field agents, I mean, not researchers like me.
She wrinkles her nose.
Woods: I thought it was the exact kind of thing you would've loved, so I tried one out in your honor. You know I love smores too, but that? That wasn't it. It was frothy, crumbly, and sour. I wouldn't be surprised if they were feeding us expired yogurt again. Doesn't matter how much protein was in it, even you would've had to spit it out.
She scratches her head.
Woods: Well, it's not like I need the protein anymore. I uh, I finally cancelled my gym membership. Got no one to go with, y'know? Sure, I'm putting on weight again, but without you here telling me to get off my ass, I kinda just don't care. In fact, I've made it my New Year's resolution not to touch another treadmill until you come back and force me. How's that for a little motivation?
She waits a moment for a response.
Woods: Nothing to say, huh? Honestly, I'm getting real tired waiting for you to come back. They told me it's like you're comatose, but I know you, dude. You don't ever stop moving. If you were actually in a coma, you'd get bored and kick your way out first thing. But it's been more than two months, and you're still sitting here with that dumb look on your face.
She stands up and begins pacing.
Woods: Listen, you can't keep this up forever. Your dad isn't buying the "vacation in Turkey" cover story anymore, and at some point, we'll just have to tell him you got hit by a bus or something. It's better than telling him we locked you in a cell.
She pauses.
Woods: You sure you want that? Come on, look at me.
She snaps her fingers in front of SCP-8397's face.
Woods: We'll tell your sister the same thing. She's graduating college soon, and we'll have to find her and tell her that her brother's dead and we don't even got a body for her to bury. Is that really what you want? Look me in the eyes, man!
She pushes its shoulder and scowls.
Woods: See, I told you you were playing too much. Every time we hung out, you'd be running your mouth about your next match. You'd be listening to NBA commentary like it was white noise, curling your arm like you were holding a ball nobody else could see.
Woods: You never listened to a word I said, did you? Your coach told you you were the star of Site-97's no-name basketball team and you ate that shit up. As if scoring three-pointers against Site-53's sweaty band of jerseyed idiots would make you a fucking hero.
Woods: Now look at you! Hugging that goddamn rubber ball like it's your new best friend.
She sniffs.
Woods: You know what? Fine.
She presses her keycard onto the scanner. A beep sounds, followed by a loud whirring.
Woods: I know you've been waiting for this.
The metal hoop attached to the wall rotates into a deployed position. In response, SCP-8397 jerks its head up, grunts and shoves itself away from the wall. Its sneakers squeak against the floor as it sprints towards the hoop, its spinal arm contracting and extending to mimic a wave-like "dribbling" motion.
Woods: Oh, now you're happy, huh?
SCP-8397 abruptly spins on one foot as if dodging around an invisible obstacle. It jumps, mimes shooting, then watches the hoop intently, its entire body visibly tense.
Woods: Ball's still in your hand, dumbass.
SCP-8397 waits another moment before beginning to shuffle side-to-side, its arm continuing to undulate while its knees are kept bent and its head held low.
Woods stares after it, trembling violently.
Woods: You really don't care? Well…
Her face grows red, and she takes a long, deep breath.
Woods: Your… your sister's dead.
She exhales shakily.
Woods: That's right. Dead. And… and your dad's in the hospital. He said he wants to see you, he wants to look his son in the eyes one more time and tell you how proud he is, but he's only got a day—no, hours left to live. You're running out of time, so… so you'll go say goodbye, won't you?
SCP-8397 mimics passing the ball and breaks into a run parallel to the hoop.
Woods: Of course not. Everyone you love could go to hell and you'd still be here, balling.
She stands stiffly, remaining silent for a long moment.
Woods: You know, I…
Woods: I miss having you around. I miss hanging out in the break room, joyriding after work, and I even miss… cheering you on at your stupid basketball games.
SCP-8397 attempts to pivot and slips, falling to the ground with a thud. It shakes its hand, disoriented.
Woods slides her palms up her face.
Woods: …I never should've bought you that damn jersey.
As SCP-8397 climbs to its feet, Woods begins to run. She closes the distance quickly and lunges for SCP-8397's ball, but it pulls its hand behind its back and continues to ripple its arm. Woods recovers, planting her feet and holding her hands in front of her.
Woods: Hand it over, Erim, you selfish piece of shit.
SCP-8397 dips towards her right, and she flinches, taking a step in the same direction. Immediately, SCP-8397 lurches back to the opposite side, holding its ball in front of itself.
Woods growls and thrusts her hands forwards. Her fingers make contact with the ball.
Woods: You can't juke m—
SCP-8397 shoves her aside. She stumbles and topples backwards with a gasp, her hair bun unraveling, the hair stick clattering across the floor. SCP-8397 sprints past her, jumps and slams its basketball into the hoop, where the entity hangs, its feet dangling mid-air.
Woods looks up, her eyes wet and hair partially obscuring her face. She smiles.
Woods: That's a foul, you fucker.
She climbs to her feet, dusts off her pants, and shuffles back to the door, where she swipes her keycard.
SCP-8397 drops to the floor and tilts its head, staring at the retracting hoop. After the hoop is fully stowed, SCP-8397 backs up and slumps against the wall, where it quickly ceases all movement once more.
Woods sighs and moves to where she had fallen earlier. On the floor lies her hair stick, long, metal, and sharp. She picks it up.
Woods: Hope you had fun, whatever you are. You really got carried away.
She kneels in front of SCP-8397.
Woods: Erim died that night, didn't he? You… you're just an anomaly now.
She grasps the basketball, which remains fixed in place against the entity's hand. After a moment's hesitation, she pokes the hair stick into the seam, but it fails to penetrate the hard rubber.
Woods: Can't believe you're making me do this.
Woods gently grasps its left hand. Holding the hair stick against her palm, she lines the sharp point up against the center of its hand, directly above the basketball's hidden valve.
For a moment, she stalls, shuddering visibly. Woods scrunches her brows together, closes her eyes, and only re-opens them when her hand has stopped trembling.
Woods: I hope this kills you, 8397.
She pushes the stick into SCP-8397's hand. The skin gives way easily, and the hair stick sinks most of the way through the flesh, through the valve and into the ball.
Woods: (whispering) Fuck…
She grits her teeth and yanks the stick out. It is coated in blood and a clear, viscous substance.
Immediately upon the stick's exit, a shrill hissing sound fills the room. Woods clenches her hand tightly around SCP-8397's wrist, her gaze turned downward. Her lips move, but no sound comes out.
As the basketball deflates, the hissing air modulates to form recognizable sounds and syllables, similar to loud whispering.
8397: Hurtsss…
Woods jerks her hand away, her eyes wide and pupils dilated. SCP-8397 blinks slowly.
8397: Elsssie…?
SCP-8397 falls to the ground, its spinal arm contracting and extending erratically, but any further vocalizations are drowned out by the sound of Woods screaming.
<END LOG>
Approximately twenty minutes later, the unauthorized test was noticed. Upon entry, security personnel discovered Woods kneeling, blowing into the wound on SCP-8397's hand; however, the basketball remained flat, and the entity exhibited no further signs of activity.
SCP-8397 has been reclassified as Neutralized.